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The following was written by my friend Tara who lost her mother four years ago. Late one night, filled with deep emotion, Tara stayed up and penned the following about her mother, the relationship she had with her and the special kind of love that exists between a mother and her children.

Anyone in my family can tell you what the words “go get my apron” meant. For as long as I can remember my mom always had an apron she wore to work. I used to think this apron was magical because so many things came from it.

From this “magical” apron came groceries, utilities, clothing, house payments, wedding dresses, car payments, college tuition and even toys. And the most magnificent thing that it could produce was a Christmas beyond a child’s wildest imagination.

Her apron was not only used for her own children — it was carried on to the next generation. It provided school clothes, more prom dresses, lunch money, Beanie Babies, books, coats and shoes. With her smooth tone of voice—never condescending—we were always told, “It’s in my apron.” Oh was this apron magical!

As the years went by, what I always knew to be “the apron,” had lost its shape and became the pocketbook. The pocketbook could take on the same majesty as the apron. It could provide for anyone in need without question. Even if was something as simple as a piece of gum, the pocketbook miraculously provided.

As an adult I now see that the apron/pocketbook helped a lot of people, and wasn’t really magical after all. I realize now that deep inside the pockets of this apron were things like sacrifice, dedication, and hard work. What came out of it were things like patience, loyalty and love.

She, like many, many mothers, was very dedicated to her children and worked tirelessly to make sure we had everything we needed and then some. Patience and loyalty were given without hesitation, and love and sacrifice provided expecting nothing in return.

Although I cannot repay all that the apron gave to me, I truly pray that my children will see her wisdom and virtues through me. I hope I can provide for my own family in the same way she did — without hesitation, without questioning, always loving, always putting their needs first.

Losing her has been the hardest thing in my life, but I have learned so much from it. What you have is material, but what you need is love. The most precious gift I can give to my children and my children’s children comes from my mother’s apron — self-sacrificing, unconditional love.

I hope in all my years, the contents of that “magical” apron will continue to be passed down from generation to generation.

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A Thrisis of Epic Proportions

Daily I am reminded that I’m not getting any younger. And no, it isn’t necessarily a realization that occurs to me upon that first look in the mirror. OK, well… sometimes it IS… but most of the time I am reminded in other ways. The news anchor and her so-chipper-I-want-to-smack-that-smile-right-off-her-face weather girl counterpart are BOTH obviously younger than I am. I have colleagues who were in diapers when I was in acid-washed denim. And doctors look more like "Doogie Howser" to me than they do "House."

Us “Boomer Babies” are getting older and not unlike our parents, we seem to be doing things differently. We’re waiting longer to get married. We aren’t getting married. We’re waiting longer to have babies. We aren’t having babies. We’re changing our careers early and we’re changing them often. We’re inching ever closer to 40 not having checked many traditional things off our lists.

And it’s really OK. It may feel at times—when we look around—like we’re in the midst of a thirty-something crisis. But we’re actually just redefining the norms. We’re saying that if we don’t like where we are at 25 or 30 or 35, it isn’t too late to change it up. Unlike our elders, we don’t feel quite so “locked” into our lives. We have more options today than any generation that has come before and sometimes that can be a little intimidating. I know. I’ve been there. I AM there. And this blog is the story of my non-cookie-cutter life recounted in what I hope to be entertaining or thought-provoking installments.

Thanks for stopping by. And if you can relate or you’re in the midst of your very own thrisis … please come back. I would love to hear from you.